April 9, 2006, Humpback Mountain (5,174'), W Face
4/9/06
2381
1
Day 51
4-9-06
Humpback Mountain (5,174'), W Face
Vertical skied: 2,900 VF
Sometimes, a "Great Day" of skiing happens by surprise.
You can seek them out religiously, sometimes finding good skiing, sometimes finding terrible skiing and mostly finding a little bit everything. You work hard to be in the right place at the right time, watching the weather and keeping a finger on the pulse of the snowpack, but more often than not you should have been there an hour earlier or an hour later. Or a 1,000 feet higher or a 1,000 feet lower, and always somewhere else.
Just being out on skis is just desserts, for sure, but what makes a truly Great Day? That Great Day you remember all summer? Mostly they involve epic powder skiing, or exotic ports of call, but sometimes you just have one that you really cant explain. Its just a day when all the stars line up and you find great skiing top to bottom.
Good ski conditions is a prerequisit for the Great Day, but usually it requires something more.
***
Twenty two miles away from my house, as the car drives, framed by the canyon walls of the mouth of the Snoqualmie Valley, lies an indestinct mountain with a series of avalanche paths gracing its western flanks. Its indestinct perhaps because there are trees all the way to the summit and no wild cliff bands or distinguishing marks. To the untrained eye it doesnt appear like much, and more importantly, from the view the public sees on the highway side, it looks almost unskiable.
But from the right vantage point, however, like say, from my house on Snoqualmie Ridge or in particular from the top of the jungle gym at the park, you can see a wonderfully continuous 2,000 VF line leaving almost from the summit and dissappearing into the valley floor.
Yes, I had looked at this line for some time now and thought often about how to ski it.
***
Four am Sunday morning. Ron was calling.
This couldnt be good.
"Pains," he said, "could be the start of labor or it could just be nothing. Either way, Id be a dick if I went skiing."
I was going to say something witty, but let it pass. The tention of a newborn baby on the way was hard enough to deal with without me adding insult to injury, no matter how delightfully funny I thought it was. I wished him good luck and a good day and finished brewing my coffee.
I left my car at snowline (at a marvelously low 2,200!) and hiked the instant foot of wet corn in my snowshoes. The temperature at 5:30 am was 40 degrees and the weather prognosis was grim, at least for the non backcountry skier. On Saturday I had explored up the valley and punched through a wonderful route in a new bowl, enjoying warm corn and a continuous descent before the storm arrived. Overnight the rain had continued with more showers forecast for Sunday, snowline hovering at 4,000. The warm temps were welcome because of the corn down low, sometimes a nuisance at the early hours of my usual descents, and the new snow foretold of powder up high. Perfect!
At 3,000 I entered the crux of the route, a slide alder choked transition section between the logging road and the avalanche path proper. I bashed and banged my way uphill, like an explorer with my machete deep in darkest Africa, forging my way to the open line. A continuous line was going to be a challenge, if only for the dreaded PNW bushwhack.
At 4,000, the rain turned to snow and the corn snow was magically captured without a change in condition under a smooth blanket of silky powder. Breaking trail became more difficult in the deepening snow and I stopped often to enjoy the views. At 5,000 winter had returned and I worked my way north along the summit ridge in a half foot of new snow and heavy squalls.
At the summit, 8:30 am, I enjoyed little in the way of views. I used my time wisely and made a call into the MCSA Solo Skier hotline and gave my line, ate, drank and suited up.
The first couple hundred feet I worked the ridge back down to the W face, then dropped into the dense forest on the W side, easily traversing on my heel side down to my up track.
Once I hit my up track and dropped into the start of the avalanche paths glory! The six inches of new snow skied like bottomless fluff as the unconsolidated corn snow underneath had marvelous elasticity, like a Tempurpedic bed, and I was able to carve effortless turns. I found myself porposing from one turn to the next, dancing to a rhythm in my head, totally enjoying the moment. I was lost in the reckless abandon of solitude, powder and the perfect line.
The snow transitioned with each successive bench in the slide path, turning from delightful, smooth powder at 5,000 to delightful, smooth corn snow at 3,000. Near the bottom I worked my way back through the treacherous slide alder and worked the technical crux. Two sections in particular stand out. The first involved ollying over a huge fallen tree, some 5 feet across with a deep moat and a terrible landing and run out. I scanned the run out for a few seconds, eyed the right and left escape routes (there were none as the tree ended in thicket on one end and streambed in the other), noodled the probability of success on a rail slide and ramp run to my left (not this time), and went for it. Tail of the board bonked the tree corn mashes flew and I careened left out into the run out.
The second crux involved skiing over a section of downed and dead trees that covered the route, an unavoidable grind. The slanted alder of the downed wood easily let me pass, however. I was thinking I was in the clear and had the 4 foot deep snow pack of the logging road in my sights when I missed a crucial traverse and I was forced to dip a paddle, carrying my board the 5 feet up to the road from the adjacent creek bed.
Back on the logging road and the forgiving corn snow of the access trail, I screamed my way back down the trail to my truck.
***
A Great Day of skiing in the books. Maybe because of the continuous line, maybe because of the fabulous snow. Who knows? Maybe its because Ill be able to remember it every time Emerald and I walk to the park this summer. By August, it truly will become a Great Day.
4-9-06
Humpback Mountain (5,174'), W Face
Vertical skied: 2,900 VF
Sometimes, a "Great Day" of skiing happens by surprise.
You can seek them out religiously, sometimes finding good skiing, sometimes finding terrible skiing and mostly finding a little bit everything. You work hard to be in the right place at the right time, watching the weather and keeping a finger on the pulse of the snowpack, but more often than not you should have been there an hour earlier or an hour later. Or a 1,000 feet higher or a 1,000 feet lower, and always somewhere else.
Just being out on skis is just desserts, for sure, but what makes a truly Great Day? That Great Day you remember all summer? Mostly they involve epic powder skiing, or exotic ports of call, but sometimes you just have one that you really cant explain. Its just a day when all the stars line up and you find great skiing top to bottom.
Good ski conditions is a prerequisit for the Great Day, but usually it requires something more.
***
Twenty two miles away from my house, as the car drives, framed by the canyon walls of the mouth of the Snoqualmie Valley, lies an indestinct mountain with a series of avalanche paths gracing its western flanks. Its indestinct perhaps because there are trees all the way to the summit and no wild cliff bands or distinguishing marks. To the untrained eye it doesnt appear like much, and more importantly, from the view the public sees on the highway side, it looks almost unskiable.
But from the right vantage point, however, like say, from my house on Snoqualmie Ridge or in particular from the top of the jungle gym at the park, you can see a wonderfully continuous 2,000 VF line leaving almost from the summit and dissappearing into the valley floor.
Yes, I had looked at this line for some time now and thought often about how to ski it.
***
Four am Sunday morning. Ron was calling.
This couldnt be good.
"Pains," he said, "could be the start of labor or it could just be nothing. Either way, Id be a dick if I went skiing."
I was going to say something witty, but let it pass. The tention of a newborn baby on the way was hard enough to deal with without me adding insult to injury, no matter how delightfully funny I thought it was. I wished him good luck and a good day and finished brewing my coffee.
I left my car at snowline (at a marvelously low 2,200!) and hiked the instant foot of wet corn in my snowshoes. The temperature at 5:30 am was 40 degrees and the weather prognosis was grim, at least for the non backcountry skier. On Saturday I had explored up the valley and punched through a wonderful route in a new bowl, enjoying warm corn and a continuous descent before the storm arrived. Overnight the rain had continued with more showers forecast for Sunday, snowline hovering at 4,000. The warm temps were welcome because of the corn down low, sometimes a nuisance at the early hours of my usual descents, and the new snow foretold of powder up high. Perfect!
At 3,000 I entered the crux of the route, a slide alder choked transition section between the logging road and the avalanche path proper. I bashed and banged my way uphill, like an explorer with my machete deep in darkest Africa, forging my way to the open line. A continuous line was going to be a challenge, if only for the dreaded PNW bushwhack.
At 4,000, the rain turned to snow and the corn snow was magically captured without a change in condition under a smooth blanket of silky powder. Breaking trail became more difficult in the deepening snow and I stopped often to enjoy the views. At 5,000 winter had returned and I worked my way north along the summit ridge in a half foot of new snow and heavy squalls.
At the summit, 8:30 am, I enjoyed little in the way of views. I used my time wisely and made a call into the MCSA Solo Skier hotline and gave my line, ate, drank and suited up.
The first couple hundred feet I worked the ridge back down to the W face, then dropped into the dense forest on the W side, easily traversing on my heel side down to my up track.
Once I hit my up track and dropped into the start of the avalanche paths glory! The six inches of new snow skied like bottomless fluff as the unconsolidated corn snow underneath had marvelous elasticity, like a Tempurpedic bed, and I was able to carve effortless turns. I found myself porposing from one turn to the next, dancing to a rhythm in my head, totally enjoying the moment. I was lost in the reckless abandon of solitude, powder and the perfect line.
The snow transitioned with each successive bench in the slide path, turning from delightful, smooth powder at 5,000 to delightful, smooth corn snow at 3,000. Near the bottom I worked my way back through the treacherous slide alder and worked the technical crux. Two sections in particular stand out. The first involved ollying over a huge fallen tree, some 5 feet across with a deep moat and a terrible landing and run out. I scanned the run out for a few seconds, eyed the right and left escape routes (there were none as the tree ended in thicket on one end and streambed in the other), noodled the probability of success on a rail slide and ramp run to my left (not this time), and went for it. Tail of the board bonked the tree corn mashes flew and I careened left out into the run out.
The second crux involved skiing over a section of downed and dead trees that covered the route, an unavoidable grind. The slanted alder of the downed wood easily let me pass, however. I was thinking I was in the clear and had the 4 foot deep snow pack of the logging road in my sights when I missed a crucial traverse and I was forced to dip a paddle, carrying my board the 5 feet up to the road from the adjacent creek bed.
Back on the logging road and the forgiving corn snow of the access trail, I screamed my way back down the trail to my truck.
***
A Great Day of skiing in the books. Maybe because of the continuous line, maybe because of the fabulous snow. Who knows? Maybe its because Ill be able to remember it every time Emerald and I walk to the park this summer. By August, it truly will become a Great Day.
That's a sweet line.
Nice report.
Keep up the good work.
Nice report.
Keep up the good work.
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